“Is it?” cried Joel, bringing up his head suddenly and gazing at her out of two black eyes; the tears trailed down over his snubby nose. “Is it really, Polly?”
“Indeed it is, Joe,” she said decidedly.
“Then I’m not going to cry any more,”, declared Joel, wiping off the last tear with the back of one brown hand, and jumping up.
“Now, that’s Mother’s good boy,” said Mrs. Pepper approvingly.
“Whatever made you tear Davie’s jacket, Joe?” cried Polly, very much puzzled and running after him.
“I wanted to see the red things on his legs,” said Joel. “Oh, I’d ’a’ made Old Man Peters squinge and squinge if I’d been there! This is the way I’d have done.” Joel ran over to the corner and seized the broom, and landed about him so savagely that Polly flew off laughing, and Davie joined in with a merry shout, until the little old kitchen fairly rang with the noise.
“Yes—sir-ee!” said Joel, prancing madly around, “that’s the way I’d ’a’ squinged him if I’d been there.”
Davie slid out of Mother Pepper’s lap and ran after him, the torn bit of calico flapping at the end of his blouse.
“Let me, Joel,” he cried, trying to reach the broom as Joel pranced on.
“You couldn’t do it,” said Joel. “I must squinge Old Man Peters myself,” holding the broom very high. Then he saw Davie’s face. “You may have it,” he said.